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SULLIVAN’S SAT ON the Route 202 edge of a parking lot for the large, land-locked King of Prussia Mall. Hundreds of people passed by the upscale steak house each day because of its location, location, location—the calculated convergence of four major Pennsylvania roadways. As I stepped into the reception area, I wished I’d had the presence of mind to suggest a less extravagant venue, but I’d been too annoyed with Mike Swenson to think that fast.
George hurried up behind me as I approached the hostess’s dais.
“Thanks,” he said breathlessly. “Thanks for waiting.”
“Just got here myself,” I assured him. “Thanks for the invitation.”
As we followed the swishing hips of the hostess to a far table, I instinctively secured my shoulder bag between both hands to keep from bumping anything—a person, a slender goblet, a graceful black chair.
“I’m sorry about Mike,” George apologized after we’d settled into our seats. “He’s...he’s...”
“Overbearing?” No reason not to be honest. George had witnessed my reaction to his son-in-law, and he’d already expressed his own doubts about the man.
Musing, he sipped at his water before he responded.
“Protective, I think. Or maybe you’re right. I don’t know him as well as I’d like. He and Susan met when she was a freshman at Michigan State, and they married there the next year. She left school during her junior year when George took a job out of state. Soon after that they adopted Jack, so..." He shrugged away his daughter's education.
“Has Susan ever worked outside the home?”
“Oh, yes,” her father responded perhaps too quickly. “But temporary jobs. Macy’s at Christmas, a card-store clerk for a while. She likes doctors’ offices, probably because she's visited so many."
Trouble getting pregnant? I wondered because of the adoption.
"Allergies," George offered, his eyes briefly avoiding mine. "Not much of a resume, I know. Which is probably why she's so eager to take this new job—to get a sense of herself, I think. To find out whether she can hack it out there in the business world.”
I understood. Why else had I secretly embraced the "Problem Solver" title Didi had bestowed that night so long ago? "Wife" and "Mother" were certainly enviable and worthwhile roles, but more often than not they fell short of describing the whole woman.
“Do you think Mike will talk Susan out of taking the job?”
George shrugged. “I left in a hurry.”
“We both did."
When he chuckled in response to my laugh, his cheeks creased in a pleasing pattern, as if he’d done a lot of smiling over the years. Yet his face also looked as if something were missing. Glasses perhaps? Had he had cataract surgery, or maybe lasix?
Best not to ask, I’d learned from Rip, and the thought of my late husband gave me a pang. Here I was dining alone with another man. Something I’d done...never, since I’d lost Rip.
“What are your interests, George?” I asked, the line that had rescued many an uncomfortable silence.
“Ah,” George replied with a wince. “That’s a tough one.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been a workaholic so long I don’t know anything else.”
“So you must love your job.”
“Selling insurance?”
“Yes. What do you like about it?”
Our drinks arrived, and George used the interruption to contemplate his answer.
“Meeting people,” he concluded. “Hearing about their lives. Helping them plan for any eventuality.”
“You sound like the Catcher in the Rye.” Saving strangers from whatever might go awry. Classic soft-hearted, sophomoric stuff, unless you actually did it for real.
“And you sound like a shrink,” he said with a bemused grin.
I sipped my wine while I gave that some thought. “My grandmother was a very wise woman,” I said. “Somehow she looked past your skin straight through to your heart. It was amazing, really. I always wished I could be like her.”
George shook his head in wonder. “Holden Caufield, the guy who wanted to save everybody.” He waved his head again and huffed. “Nobody ever got me so quickly. Certainly not my ex-wife, that’s for sure. And you did it inside a minute. You are a wise woman, Gin. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”
Too intense. And too flattering. “Holden Caufield and Pollyanna,” I joked.
“No, no,” George disagreed. “Cassandra. Wasn’t she a seer, or a mind reader, or something?”
“If you say so.”
We moved onto trivia, widely skirting his divorce and Rip’s demise, Susan and Mike, and anything else of importance for the remainder of the meal. I enjoyed my wine and the medium-rare steak and even the calorie-dense garlic mashed potatoes.
After George’s credit card and the bill had been collected, he turned serious. “If Susan wins the argument, will you take the job?”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely that she’ll win, or unlikely that you’ll help them out?”
I was saved from an immediate reply by George’s cell phone. He said hello, listened a moment, answered, “Do my best,” then hung up.
“So will you do it?” he asked again.
“Babysit Jack? I don’t know...”
“That was Susan,” he informed me. “She and Mike had a battle royal—obviously—but she managed to bring him around.”
“Good for her.”
“One contingency...”
“Oh?”
“She wants you.”
“What about Mike?”
“Oh, you’ll love this.” George slipped me a sly smile. “He told Susan you’re part of the deal.”
“How so?”
“It’s you or nobody.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The officious bastard was confident I would say no, and he would get his way after all.
I withheld the four-letter word on the tip of my tongue.
Babysitters don't talk like that.